


thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip

by Crystalinastar



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Identity Reveal, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, bc really I'm making this up as I go, discussions of origin stories anyways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalinastar/pseuds/Crystalinastar
Summary: Sometimes, Miles wonders what being Spider-Man was like for Peter Parker. Did swinging through New York have the same electrifying exhilaration, when you freefall and save yourself at the last second? Did Peter Parker have the same glow of pride in his chest after taking care of even the most minor of crimes?Did he still think, day after day after day, of his uncle’s death? Of all the deaths that happened while he was Spider-Man?~All six Spider-People commiserate over their origin stories, though not necessarily with each other.





	thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip

Jefferson remembers seeing the Spider-Man with the store-bought suit and wide, owlish eyes hunched over in an alleyway. There were several others fighting at poor May Parker’s house, but his gut told him to go to that alleyway.

And then he saw Aaron’s body. His stomach had twisted and he clenched his fists. Aaron was in purple gear, instantly recognizable to anyone in New York, let alone someone on the force.

His brother was the Prowler.

And New Spider-Man just straight up vanished. Jefferson had looked around wildly for him.

Aaron must’ve been at the sight because the Spiders were there, Jefferson had reasoned. All maybe-six of them, of course there was going to be some sort of villain.

Jefferson called for the arrest of the Spidey crouched over Aaron’s dead body.

Looking back on it, Jefferson thinks he was looking for something to blame. He’s sure that the Spider-Man with the black suit that hugged him was the one with Aaron, and that Spider-Man shouldn’t even be considered a man, with his attempts at a deep voice and fake accents. It’s so obvious now that Spider-Man isn’t responsible.

But Aaron wasn’t either, because you can’t judge a dead man’s decisions.

Jefferson takes a breath, and swallows.

He adjusts the microphone, just idle fidgeting, and speaks.

“Me and my brother… we weren’t the closest,” is what he starts with. God, that’s what he starts with. Miles is among the small gathering of people mourning Aaron, and he was much closer to Aaron in recent years than Jefferson would’ve ever been.

He continues, regardless. “I was a cop, and he—I didn’t know what he was getting up to, but I knew it was nothing good. There was just this _canyon_ between us, and it grew bigger as the years passed. But I remember the good ol’ days, when we were young and free.” He chuckles. “Actually, we were both on the wrong side of the tracks. But we were together.

“And—well, Aaron was—” His throat squeezes, and for a moment, he is unable to speak. His mouth is gaping open, trying to form words, but he just can’t. “Aaron was my best bud. We were always there for each other. And even when _we_ drifted apart, he was always there for my son.”

Miles is sobbing as quietly as he can manage, with Rio providing support beside him. Jefferson can feel his eyes begin to water.

“The point is that he—he was my brother. And _nothing's_  gonna change that.”

There’s a soft murmur as Jefferson steps away from the mic. The people that were just Aaron’s acquaintances come forward to pay their respects first.

Rio is cooing softly in Spanish when his feet finally find their way to his family. She looks to him, hardness in her eyes. Jefferson knows that Rio was never close with Aaron, but she’s mourning him all the same.

Miles leans forward and encases Jefferson in a full-body hug. He feels tears staining his shirt, but he pulls Miles in tighter.

“It’s my fault,” Miles whispers, muffled.

_No,_ is Jefferson’s first thought. How could Miles, sweet and precious Miles, think that he’s the cause of Aaron’s death? He supposes grief twists your way of thinking.

“I want none of that, you hear?” he says, Miles gripping him with all the strength he has in that skinny body. To Jefferson’s surprise, Miles is stronger than he thinks. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

Miles shakes his head. “It’s my fault,” he repeats.

When they pay their respects, Miles touches Aaron’s casket with a shuddering hand, and pulls away. Jefferson takes hold of Miles’ wrist and places his hand gently on the casket, almost like Miles is taking in all of Aaron’s love before it dies with him.

“It’s what he would’ve wanted,” Jefferson says, pushing the hand before Miles can take it back. “Go ahead.”

Jefferson moves his arms back to his sides. Miles sorta jolts in the way his hand lurches back, and Jefferson’s heart falls.

_“No,”_ Jefferson wants to say, heat simmering behind his eyes. He can’t let the tears roll down his face. He has to be strong for his son. _“No, Miles. It’s not your fault.”_

Jefferson remembers all the times he brushed Aaron off without a second thought, how he didn’t try hard enough to reconnect with Aaron before his untimely death. Maybe if he’d tried harder, Aaron wouldn’t have become the Prowler. Maybe he wouldn’t have died.

_“It’s mine.”_

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Miles wonders what being Spider-Man was like for Peter Parker. Did swinging through New York have the same electrifying exhilaration, when you freefall and save yourself at the last second? Did Peter Parker have the same glow of pride in his chest after taking care of even the most minor of crimes?

Did he still think, day after day after day, of his uncle’s death? Of all the deaths that happened while he was Spider-Man?

Every time he closes his eyes, he can see Uncle Aaron in front of him, bleeding out. Telling Miles, _“You’re the best of us,”_ even as he failed to save his uncle. All the other Spider-People were out there, fighting Kingpin’s goons, and Miles couldn’t even stop his uncle from dying. He can see Peter Parker, just barely hanging on, before Kingpin just- just does what he does best, all while Miles watches.

So Miles takes New York by storm at night. He stops bodega bandits, he arrests alleyway muggers, he saves so many people.

And yet, on his first fight against a villain since Kingpin, he still can’t live up to Peter Parker’s legacy.

The Vulture flies towards Miles, and Miles ducks out of the way. He pants, hands resting on his knees in a small moment of not being attacked. He and the Vulture have been going at it for what feels like hours, with the Vulture attacking and Miles dodging. Whenever Miles lobs some webs, it never works.

_Try something different, try something different,_ Miles thinks, like a frantic mantra. It’s always easy to say that in theory, but it’s much harder to implement the idea when you’re under pressure.

So Miles shoots another web at the guy’s wings. _Technically,_ before, he wasn’t in midair as he shot, and that makes all the difference. (No, it doesn’t.)

Needless to say, he misses. Instead, his web goes straight for a civilian’s face. The civilian struggles to take it off, and will not be able to until Miles applies his anti-stick solution. He knows—he makes all of his own web fluid after all.

The Vulture sneers and jets towards the civilian. Miles’ swinging just isn’t fast enough as the Vulture’s wings pierce a hole into the civilian’s chest.

The Vulture hums dangerously. “Peter Parker would’ve saved her,” he says matter-of-factly, and Miles crumbles.

He bounces off the side of a building and just manages to jam his finger into the thingy that attaches the wings to the Vulture’s back and sends a load of electricity through it, shutting it off. Without his wings, the Vulture is nothing, so Miles webs him up.

Miles glances towards the civilian. She was laying on the ground, her body unnervingly still, with a couple people panicking around her. He steps up to the civilian, preparing to take her to the hospital.

The civilian quite literally has a hole through her heart. Miles had _majorly_ misjudged the situation, and other people started sending him glares.

“What’s goin’ on here?” a low voice Miles immediately identifies as Dad asks.

Everyone, including Miles, stand back and let Dad examine the body. Dad’s frowning when he looks back, and his eyes find Miles. “What happened here, Spider-Man?”

“The Vulture.” Miles is surprised he could speak at all. He’s still among the many looking at the body with wide eyes. If he tilts his head a little so that the angle is just right, she looks like Uncle Aaron or Peter Parker.

People are staring at him. They expect him to be fun and lighthearted, as Spider-Man always is. Just another way he’s letting Peter Parker down.

Miles salutes weakly. “Guess that’s my cue to go. Goodbye from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!” he calls as he launches himself up to the top of a building.

 

* * *

 

“Spider-Man,” Dad says. Miles doesn’t turn around. It’s not like he is in any way shocked that his dad is suddenly behind him, because Spider-Sense is both a blessing and a curse in the sense that it warns him of _everything_. Once, while he was still getting used to the Spider-ness of it all, he’d almost had a heart attack because someone threw a paper airplane in class.

“Officer?” Miles replies lightly, almost jokingly.

Dad sighs, and Miles knows now is the time to pivot on his heels and actually face him. “You wanna talk about it?”

On a list of top twenty most likely statements to be uttered to Miles as he is being Spider-Man, that sentence is nowhere on it. Maybe, like, thirty-eighth, or seventy-third if he’s factoring in his dad specifically.

“About what?”

His dad, as expected, does not beat around the bush. “That whole Vulture situation a few days ago.”

“Nothing to talk about.” Miles is, if nothing else, great at avoiding things.

“Listen, Spider-Man,” Dad starts, “I know you’re a kid. You’re a _kid,_ and seeing what you did out there? That would be traumatizing for an adult.” Dad has that tired, world-weary expression on his face that he tends to have after a long day at work.

Miles considers this for a moment. To discuss, with his dad who doesn’t know he’s Miles’ dad, about how he’s not filling Peter Parker’s shoes, a man his dad did not approve. Logically, he thinks, _No._

But of course, nothing ever happens the way he wants it to.

Miles blurts out, “I’m Spider-Man. I can’t—” before cutting himself off.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Dad murmurs, before stepping closer to Miles. “Listen, there ain’t anything wrong with talking. You think Peter Parker made it as far as he did without his wife? His aunt?”

“See, there’s the problem, Officer,” Miles says, trying to turn the conversation back around to where they don’t start talking about his failures. “You’re not my aunt or my wife. Or, at least, I hope you aren’t.”

“Do your parents know?” his dad asks.

Miles almost snorts. _Almost._ “No,” he manages. “No, definitely not. They can’t.”

“Well, they should,” Dad affirms. “Talk to them, if you can’t talk to me.”

Miles webs up to the top of a lamppost, perching there Spider-Man style. “Noted. See ya later, Officer!”

His advice is most definitely _not_ noted.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Jefferson thinks if he’d spotted Spider-Man as a civilian, he would be able to recognize him immediately. The gaudy color schemes, the confident pose and even more confident mouth, the natural agility and grace—that’s all _very_ recognizable. It was sorta-almost a fantasy of his to actually get Spider-Man to stop doing a policeman’s job.

Of course, Peter Parker _died,_ and Jefferson never got a chance to see if that were true.

But the same goes for the new Spider-Man. New Spider-Man is distinct from Peter Parker in so many ways that don’t allude to age. He’s less of a pun person and more of a snarker. He’s more grounded, less fluid, hopping on cars instead of swinging in the air and the air only. His fake accents are another telltale difference.

And both exude the very same air of charisma. It _rolls_ off of them in waves. Jefferson had thought he’d know that kind of charisma when he sees it.

And yet, here he stands, with the Spider-Man suit in the washing machine. Jefferson told himself he’d do Miles a favor. His clothes were in the washer. It was an easy decision to make. But somehow, Jefferson knows Miles won’t appreciate the gesture.

In so many ways, Miles is just like New Spider-Man. Snarky, more of a runner, hell, the accents should’ve been a dead giveaway. Miles has never been good at accents. And Spider-Man, god. Jefferson had thought that Spider-Man was Miles’ age—he hadn’t known the half of it.

_I should’ve known._

Jefferson runs his thumb over the damp fabric. It’s not spandex, _of course_ it’s not spandex. He would hope Miles is a little more responsible than that. Except, it’s not exactly body armor either. He knows there are reasons for that, but his heart skips a beat when he imagines Miles out there in anything less than bulletproof.

Oh god, Miles fought the Vulture the other week. Jefferson had come up to him, had told him to tell his parents.

Jefferson brings his phone out of his pocket and starts dialing Miles. As expected, he doesn’t answer, leaving behind his cheeky greeting. Miles told him he’s hanging out with his friends from Brooklyn Middle, and since his suit is here, Jefferson is inclined to believe him.

“Miles?” he says into the phone. “We need to talk. Come home, _now._ ”

 

* * *

 

Miles’ dad throws the Spider-Man suit on the dining table, and that’s how Miles knows this is going to be a rough ride.

He _would_ play dumb, but considering how that worked out last time, he’d probably blurt, “What’s that, Dad?” as if Spider-Man isn’t all over the news and suddenly beloved (because when New York hated Spider-Man, Spider-Man died).

So Miles says, instead, “Did my white shirts get stained black or something?” as he sits.

That doesn’t sound as stupid, but it’s giving “What’s that, Dad?” a run for its money.

Dad sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks.

Miles’ throat clenches and his mouth goes dry. His mind flashes back to the dying words of Peter Parker, his last pieces of advice, an important one being to keep his identity a secret. And he gets it, now. During the Kingpin fight, what if Kingpin knew the police officer standing at the control center or whatever is Miles’ dad? How much damage could’ve been done?

“To protect you,” he says decisively, crossing his arms out of habit.

Dad’s face crumples. “No, Miles. It’s our job to protect you.”

_He’s gonna ask me to stop being Spider-Man._ Miles looks down at the thought of it. He _loves_ being Spider-Man. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, thwipping through the streets leaves him short of breath (in a good way). Even with the danger, there’s nothing that can match the way something warm glows in his core when he defeats the villain of the week.

_I’ll say no._

“I’m Spider-Man, Dad!” Miles argues. “It’s my job to protect New York! _You_ live in New York!”

There’s a beat of silence, and Miles is just waiting for those incriminating words, the ones that tell him he can’t do the thing he loves, that he can’t-

“I know,” his dad agrees, so quietly Miles might not have heard him if not for super hearing.

_What?_

“Just…” Dad sighs, a profoundly deep sound. It’s not the sigh he does when Miles sneaks off with Uncle Aaron, nor is it the sigh he makes when he stares at Mom and he’s just so in love. No, this is the sigh Miles only hears on rare occasions. It’s the sigh Dad sighed at Uncle Aaron’s funeral.

Miles swallows thickly.

“It’s just—you need to tell us, Miles. We want to help you.” Dad can barely meet his eyes, not that Miles particularly wants to. “I don’t agree with what you do, but if that’s where your spark is leading you, than. I guess, I can’t take it away.”

His eyes water, warm tears sliding down his cheeks. Miles leans in across the table and fumbles for his dad, even through blurry vision.

Dad steps out of his seat entirely and embraces Miles. “I love you,” he murmurs softly. “But you don’t have to say it—”

“Love you too, Dad,” Miles says, hiccuping. 

 

* * *

 

Jefferson hangs around the window after Miles swings away into the night. It’s one thing to piece it together, but it’s another to see it for himself. His son is so graceful, launching webs like it’s nothing and filling up the gaps in between by running on walls. He may be just a little biased, but Miles looks so much better than Parker, with the black and red seamlessly blending instead of Parker’s clashing red and blue.

“So you found out?” says the familiar voice of his wife, behind him.

Jefferson turns around. “You… you knew?”

Rio chuckled to herself. “He would tell us when he was ready.” She looked at him with a piercing gaze that always made Jefferson want to hide. “Or until you made him tell.”

“He left his suit out in plain sight!” Jefferson defends. “It was practically an invitation.”

Rio shakes her head, with a bemused smile. “I’m just glad you two worked it out, _mi amor._ ”

Jefferson’s phone buzzes. He absentmindedly looks at the lock screen, which lights up with a news notification.

‘New Spidey saves the day again!’

A grin comes to his face immediately. “Yeah,” he replies. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> everyone was gonna have one chapter but I screwed it up and now Miles has at least two chapters and I'm considering an epilogue
> 
> well. hope you enjoyed!


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